that afternoon to Rose, who was fretting at the "uselessness of
dragging the old-fashioned things to and from the city, when they had
now a home of their own in the country."

The whole tone of the house was fretful and restless; the halls
were crowded with trunks; the dinner was belated; and Mrs. Filmer had
a nervous headache, and was weary and suffering. She looked
reproachfully at Harry when he came to the table, and Harry
understood the look. He had been needed, and he had not been
present, and the newly roused sense of his father's responsibility
made him answer the look relatively.

"It is too bad that you have everything to do, mother. Why do you let
father sneak away to the city?"

"Do not talk absurdly, Harry. Your father did not 'sneak away.' You
know I begged him to go. The disturbance of the ball and the packing
after it would have knocked him to pieces for the whole winter."

At this moment Rose entered. She was radiant and innocent-looking, and
full of apologies for her three minutes' tardiness; and she answered
Harry's keen, interrogative look with one of such guileless
listlessness that Harry was compelled to wonder whether it really had
been his sister in the wood at that hour. All dinner time his thoughts
wandered round this uncertainty and the certainty that Antony, at
least, was a positive case. And then, if it was not Rose, whom could
Antony have been making love to? For Harry had no doubts as to the
occupation of the couple.

When they were alone, Harry suddenly turned to his sister and asked:
"What were you doing in the wood so late this evening, Rose?"

"Me! In the wood?"

"Were you not in the wood with Antony Van Hoosen?"

She shrugged her shoulders scornfully and answered: "Mamma can tell
you what I have been doing all afternoon."

"Indeed, I can, Harry. Rose has had to look after many things you
might have attended to for her; but then, Rose," added Mrs. Filmer,
turning her head languidly to her daughter, "there were the Van
Hoosens to look after. Your brother is mad that way. If he cannot see
the girl, he fancies he sees her brother. Thank heaven, we shall be
rid of them to-morrow!"

"Oh, mamma! I think you too have Yanna and Antony on your brain."

"Well, Rose, I have undergone them all summer; and I may now say
frankly that I do not like them."

"You have a sick headache, dear mamsie. Do go to bed. Shall I help
you? No? Well, then, I will go myself. For I am tired, and so f